


A Vicbourne Christmas Carol

by LadyJaneGrey92



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 07:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17075894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJaneGrey92/pseuds/LadyJaneGrey92
Summary: While not exactly a parody per se, this work does borrow a bit from the Charles Dickens' classic, A Christmas Carol, in terms of some of its structure and basic concepts.  The story opens one Christmas eve before Albert reappears in Victoria's life and takes place almost entirely at Brocket Hall.  In the mind of the author, Victoria is played by Jenna Coleman and Lord Melbourne by Rufus Sewell.**This was written as a contribution for the Vicbourne Advent Calendar event of 2018 on the Facebook group, For the Love of Vicbourne--Victoria and Lord Melbourne.  If you enjoy this work, come check out our group!**





	1. Chapter 1--Christmas Present

**Author's Note:**

> Lord Melbourne's lonely Christmas eve vigil is interrupted by the arrival of a very special Christmas present.

Chapter 1—Christmas Present

The snow was drifting lazily down and pooling in the sills of the windows, gathering into white drifts on the ground and frosting the branches of the trees. Something about standing inside one’s own home, next to a blazing warm hearth whilst watching snow flurries tended to make one feel a sense of contentment with oneself and the world. Sometimes it took winter and snow to make one appreciate one’s home all the more.

Home, hearth, family.

Christmas.

Viscount Lord Melbourne, Second of that name sighed. Holidays were meant to be spent with one’s closest and dearest loved ones. They were a time of joy and celebration, chaos and excitement. But Melbourne had lost his family, and during a time when other homes were filled with hustle and bustle and guests and children, the spacious and beautiful rooms of Brocket Hall rang most appallingly of utter silence. It was a silence louder than any other time of the year, he always thought, contemplating his empty glass of brandy as he stood watching the snow.

Normally, his sister and brother-in-law, Lord and Lady Palmerston, would visit, as would a handful of other various relatives and friends. But this year his sister had expressed an urge to travel to the continent for Christmas, and so William Lamb was on his own. Not that he minded—not really. He was used to it, after all, and of a solitary temperament as well. It was a peaceful change from the clamor and noise of London, and from the business of governing the country. It would be pleasant to be far removed from it all, and on his own, undisturbed, to quietly contemplate the snowflakes that gathered on his window-sills. It was good for the soul. A man needed time away to contemplate the vagaries of life. Time to refresh himself, to brace himself for the year to come and all its challenges.

Or so he told himself.

Oh hell, who was he kidding?

In point of fact, he was not happy at being entirely alone. Because, his heart whispered in a small and timid voice, there was someone he would very much love to spend this Christmas with. But that was quite out of the question.

He reached for the decanter of brandy and poured himself another, laughing at himself for his slavery to convention. Why bother with a glass at all? Why not just drink straight from the decanter? It wasn’t like there was any other soul who was like to use it after all. And he knew he’d drink the whole of it in one night. As he did every night. And morning, and afternoon.

He downed the contents in one swig.

Damn it all, anyway. It didn’t help. It never did. It never made him less lonely. It never dulled the stabbing pain of it all.

It never made him want her less.

The peace and utter silence of the night was suddenly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of hooves outside, and the jangling of harness, followed by muffled voices.

Someone had arrived! He wondered who would be out on a night like this, this late in the evening.

Well. At least he hadn’t drunk straight from the decanter after all.  He hoped there had been no emergency.

The door to his library opened, admitting his steward.

“Begging your pardon, My Lord. This just arrived from London. From Buckingham House."

Melbourne turned, eyebrows nearly touching his hairline, an involuntary smile curling one side of his mouth. His foolish old heart in his chest actually skipped a beat.

“Thank you. Set it there,” he said to his man, affecting nonchalance, waiting with almost a giddy anticipation for the door to close and leave him alone again.

Poor footman, he thought with a chuckle. That chap Brodie, most like. Oh well, he could warm himself by the fire in the kitchen as he waited for his response.  And like as not, Cook would fill him with a hot dinner and gossip before his long, cold trek back to London.

He made himself walk to his escritoire, berating himself for a pathetic fool for his eagerness, and found a parcel, with a note attached.

_“Viscount Lord Melbourne, of Brocket Hall”_ it read in a flowing, familiar hand.

He allowed himself a moment to picture that delicate, dainty little hand, the same one he’d held so often and pressed to his lips, holding the quill that touched this paper. He couldn’t but contemplate its owner without a smile.

Christmas, suddenly, felt much less lonely.

He opened the wax seal on the back of the letter and read:

 

_Dear Lord M,_

_Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, has often been the happy recipient of many dazzling and beautiful bouquets of flowers from Viscount Lord Melbourne’s most astonishingly beautiful greenhouse at Brocket Hall. And on this Solemn, holy and auspicious occasion of Christmas Eve, wishes to repay the favor in kind. Her Majesty hopes, therefore, that her Lord M would see his way to accepting HM’s humble gift as a token of her Undying Regard, and Great Appreciation for all those thoughtful little kindnesses that he is wont to bestow upon her person, in addition to his loyal Service._

_Her Majesty further would wish to express her great sorrow that Lord M has removed himself from London for the Season to Brocket Hall, and finds herself in quite low Spirits in want of His Companionship. HM would therefore request her Viscount Lord Melbourne’s indulgence in permitting her a visit to Brocket Hall on Christmas day. If it pleases her Lord M, HM will arrive by unmarked carriage by three o’clock in the afternoon tomorrow._

_Pray do not be concerned for Her Majesty’s whereabouts, as she has quite worked out all mitigating details. Her Majesty hopes Lord Melbourne is well, and is spending the evening in Great Anticipation of once again being regaled by his tales and stories and the Pleasure of His Company to-morrow._

_Sincerely,_

_Her Majesty, Queen Victoria R._

Lord Melbourne clucked his tongue at her audacity, but couldn’t stop himself from smiling all the same. It was really quite scandalous, he told himself. Foolish in the extreme for them both.

And yet…

He could not bring himself to refuse her anything. Especially not this. And he knew it.

He shook his head at them both, stroking his eyebrow thoughtfully. It would take their critics approximately five minutes, he estimated, to see their way through Victoria’s ‘careful’ planning. Her attempts to visit him “incognito” in the past had been adorably transparent to even the most casual of observers. It was sheer folly to attempt such again.

But the truth of the matter was that Melbourne felt he’d just been handed the best Christmas gift he had ever received in his life. He couldn’t possibly bear to turn it away, no matter how lunatic, no matter how dangerous. He was Adam, presented with the apple in the Garden of Eden. And she, the most glorious Eve. And the apple hung suspended between them—red, ripe, and utterly delicious enough to make his mouth water--as did the image of Victoria, standing there with apple juice running down her chin.

Smiling, wrapped only in broad, green tropical leaves…

Bloody hell.

He was doomed, and he knew it full well.

He reached for the parcel, seating himself at his escritoire in preparation for writing the reply he knew she was already pacing the floor in anticipation of receiving.

Carefully he unwrapped the brown paper, the bit of twine. Opened the box.

He could not believe his eyes.

Apple, indeed. By God, he hadn’t half called it.

He swallowed hard, his heart now skipping several beats in anticipation of a visit that he knew damned well he should refuse under any complaint, any pretense at all that he could possibly contrive. He had no business whatsoever entertaining the Queen alone, at Brocket Hall, in the dead of a winter snow, on Christmas day, in the frame of mind that she was currently in—a frame of mind that if he was perfectly honest with himself, they were both in.

The box contained a beautiful, healthy, quite large and festive sprig of mistletoe, positively overflowing with berries.

 

* * *

 

Victoria could not sleep.

She paced up and down her bedchamber, wringing her hands, Dash at her heels. She had sent the most daring of Christmas presents to her Prime Minister, and then very boldly asked him to see her on Christmas day. She’d done it in haste, as quickly as almost the thought occurred to her, before she lost her nerve. And now that it was sent, and would inevitably be received and opened by those large, capable, and steady hands she had so come to admire, she was an agony of anticipation and dread, of anxiety and excitement.

What would he think? What would he say? Would he agree, or decline her visit? Would he chastise her on their next meeting, or worst of all, avoid her until she ordered him to appear before her? No. That was not the worst of all, she thought as she fiddled with her hands, the worst of all would be that he would be offended. And then reject her.

But she knew…deep down inside of herself with a certainty that was unshakable, that she had to do this. And so, she’d acted on her impulse. For better or for worse now. The deed was done.

But even without that knowledge, she knew he would be spending Christmas alone, and she could not bear it! Once Emma had told her of the situation, she had begun working on a remedy. She couldn’t stand the thought of her lovely Lord M all alone, on that of all days of the year! It was untenable! But there was more behind her decision than that. Oh, so much more.

She was at the window again, peering into the darkness.

Had the footman made it back to the palace yet?

She had left express orders to have any reply delivered straight to her, no matter the hour.

A soft knock on the door between her room and Lehzen’s startled her. Lehzen appeared in her night attire, holding a candle and a letter.

“Your Majesty! A letter has arrived from Brocket Hall, and the footman says that he is to deliver it to you immediately!”

Victoria flew across the room and seized the letter from the Baroness.

“Such a shame to be sending letters at such a time at night!” The Baroness said archly, gathering her shawl around her primly. “Your Majesty, it is not seemly!”

But Victoria had no ears for the Baroness’s criticism. "That will be all, Lehzen," she said.  When the door between their rooms had closed, she broke the wax seal with trembling hands and opened the letter.

_Your Majesty,_

_Viscount Lord Melbourne writes to thank Her Majesty Queen Victoria most profusely for the Touching Floral Gift that Her Majesty so Thoughtfully sent in observance of the Season, and to say that he would be Most Honored to receive her royal visit on Christmas Day at Brocket Hall, provided it does not in any way Jeopardize or Harm Her Majesty to do so. Lord Melbourne confesses that although he relishes his solitude and quiet, he has found both to be rather excessive of late, and that a visit by Her Majesty would both Please and Honor him Deeply, as well as provide him with the Very Great Enjoyment of her Most Welcome Company on the blessed day of Christmas._

_Viscount Lord Melbourne hopes that this information will meet with Her Majesty’s Pleasure, and Relieve any anxiety that she may be suffering under whilst awaiting his reply. Lord Melbourne further bids Her Majesty a very peaceful and restful night, and safe and careful travels to-morrow, and greatly looks forward to receiving her at any time she wishes._

_Your Most Obedient and Humble Servant, etc._

_Viscount Lord Melbourne. ._

_PS: Lord M strongly advises HM to burn this letter upon reading its contents._

Victoria crushed the letter to her breast and exhaled, her heart soaring, her anxieties melting away in the face of his enthusiastic response.

Oh, it was a very scandalous letter indeed! One of the most direct and scandalous he had ever written her! He must have been very delighted with her gift…a thought that both filled her with joy and trepidation for what the next day would bring.

Oh, how could she sleep now! She read the letter, his letter, again, tracing the lines of the quill across the page, imagining him sitting there, bending over his desk to write it to her. His hands had touched this paper. Had folded it and sealed it with wax and sent it to her. His big, beautiful, amazing hands…

Soon, very soon, she would see him. He would drop to his knee before her, take her hand in his great, warm one and raise it to his lips…

It was only an official kiss of course, but oh, how Victoria had found herself meditating on that brief second he kissed her knuckles time and time again! If she could freeze time, she would wait until that moment to do it, so that she could, at her leisure, ponder the soft, smooth, pliant texture of his mouth, and the sheer perfection of it touching her skin. It was always over far too quickly.

Perhaps…perhaps with her gift, she might coax him into…

She wet her lips quite subconsciously. What would his lips feel like against other parts of her body? Against her cheek perhaps, or even…or even…

She swallowed hard, her eyes closing involuntarily in the contemplation of it. It was so wicked a thought and yet…

and yet…

She could not help herself. She found that when it came to her Lord M, wicked thoughts came quite freely into her mind. He fascinated her. In every possible way. His brilliant, witty mind and his lively conversation. The way he made her laugh. His advice, which was always filled with wisdom, experience and humor. The twinkle in his eye sometimes as he looked at her with pride, or with amusement. His gentle, husky voice. His soft huff of laughter and his loud boisterous laugh.

His handsome face, and his beautiful spring-green eyes, framed by those long thick lashes. His expressive eyebrows, which danced up and down quite animatedly as he talked, the strong lines of cheek and jaw, the way his dark hair curled in eddies and whirls around his face. And the beautiful, strong and sensitive line of his mouth, curled up in quiet mirth, or straight and solemn. And best of all, when he could not contain his smile and it spread widely across his face, lighting up his soft green eyes with a warmth that made her sing on the inside.

Many times lately she’d found herself watching his mouth as he talked, the white straight teeth flashing in glimpses as he spoke, fascinated by the movement of his lips, and the little scar off to one side of his smile. So distracted had she become on a few occasions that he’d asked her a question, and she’d found to her dismay and his amusement that she had missed it entirely and he’d had to repeat himself, while she focused quite fixedly on his cravat and tried to concentrate very hard on what he was saying.

She closed her eyes. She had memorized every detail of his beloved face. In the privacy of her imagination, she raised her own hand, touched one brow, watched him smile down at her, pleased by her touch, as she drew her fingertips down over his strong cheek, down to the line of his soft mouth. And in her dream, she saw his eyes simmer as he gazed at her, the way she had seen him look at her on a few occasions before, as he puckered his lips and kissed her fingers…

She opened her eyes and padded back to her bed. Dash followed, climbing gratefully into her lap and giving her the warm, furry comfort of his small body to cuddle with as she lay down and tried to sleep.

She clutched the letter to her breast and petted Dash. She should follow his advice she knew, and burn the scandalous letter immediately. But she could not bring herself to do it. Not yet.

Tonight, it brought her comfort to hold it and think of him. Tomorrow morning, she would do as he bade, then put her plan of escape fully into action.


	2. Chapter 2--A Plan Is Implemented

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it begins...

Chapter 2—A Plan is Implemented

 

“But Majesty! Going to Windsor in the dead of winter is not advised!” Lehzen fussed around Victoria as Skerett finished her hair, decorating it with the beautiful white blooms that had just arrived from Brocket Hall.

Victoria could hardly keep her chair. Her heart was going so furiously. Not only had he replied, but he was looking forward to their meeting. The flowers might as well have been a trumpet section announcing the fact. She saved a few from her hair to tuck into her decolletage, hardly countenancing her daring.

“There is snow already on the roads, and more to come so they say! And it will be cold in the carriage! You may catch a chill!”

“I thank you, Lehzen, but I shall be quite well. I have a wish to see Windsor at Christmas, and so go to Windsor I shall. Am I Queen, or am I not Queen?”

Lehzen bowed her head deferentially. “Of course, Your Majesty, it shall be as you wish.”

“Of course it shall!”

“Shall I ride with Your Majesty in the carriage?”

“No. You shall stay here. I shall not be gone very long. I shall take Skerett and Emma, in Emma’s carriage. The rest of you will stay behind. All of you.”

“The servants as well?”

“Windsor Palace has it’s own servants, does it not?”

“Indeed Your Majesty but—”

“And you have sent ahead informing them of my arrival?”

“I have.”

“That is all I shall require.”

“Shall I not go with you, Majesty? On Christmas?”

Victoria felt a stab of guilt at the glistening in Lehzen’s eyes. But her mind was quite made up.

“I shall not be gone but a day or so, Lehzen. I need you here, to manage things in my absence. Who else can I count on absolutely?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” The older woman turned her face to hide her tears.

“That will be all for now. I promise I shall see you again before I leave.”

“Very well, Your Majesty.” Lehzen bowed deferentially and backed out of the room, closing the door softly behind herself.

Skerett was watching her, Victoria noticed, but said nothing.

“I believe you are suspecting me of something, Skerett.” She said to her maid.

“No, of course not, Your Majesty.” Her maid’s cheeks grew heated.

“It is quite all right! Dearest Skerett, I didn’t mean any offense. Tell me. What is it that you suspect?”

Skerett looked up at Victoria in the mirror, mischief in her eyes.

“I really couldn’t say, Your Majesty. But I wondered if we were going…directly…to Windsor castle?”

Victoria smiled broadly. “Perhaps not,” she said, and both women giggled. “I am afraid I shall have to rely quite heavily on your discretion, Skerett.”

“Yes Ma’am. You can.” She smiled. “I’m glad Ma’am. For you both.”

Victoria met her eyes, and Skerett’s face flamed.

“Thank you,” Victoria said softly.

 

* * *

 

The coach did make a slight deviation—to Hertfordshire. Once at Emma’s estate, the three women parted company, and a message was dispatched to Windsor, informing them of this slight change of plan. Victoria would be arriving tomorrow, on the account of Emma’s sister, who was most unwell and needed to see her immediately.

Not long after, Emma’s unmarked coach departed as discreetly as possible for the short distance to Brocket Hall.


	3. Chapter 3--A Plan Comes Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria's carefully laid plans go slightly awry, and her gift is put to very good use....

Chapter 3—A Plan Comes Together

 

William Lamb tried not to pace, and failed.

He tried not to check his pocket watch every thirty seconds.  And failed in that, as well.  He tried not to drink. Lord, how he tried! But he was halfway through a new decanter before another hour had passed.

He knew what it was, of course. At least halfway.

Guilt.

He should not have agreed to this madness. He should not have sent her a letter in the wee hours of the morning. He definitely should not have sent a fresh bouquet of his best white orchids at first light this morning.

He might as well take out an advertisement in the Times. Or tried to put out a fire by dousing it with lamp oil.

Victoria would have received his message. Loud and clear. And so would the rest of the world, when her transparent attempts at secrecy were uncovered. It would take the intellect of a four year old child to put the salacious pieces together. And when they did, the world would assume they had been lovers for as long a time as they cared to speculate. The scandal would be endless. Ground-shaking. Relentless and vicious in the extreme.

There goes the monarchy. The stability of the country and its future, his career, her life, her future happiness, her virtue. The country would have no choice but to put Cumberland on the throne, and the Whigs would be out of power for at least a generation. It was as if he’d taken everything he’d believed in, everything he held dear, everything he’d ever loved and fought to protect and placed it on a silver platter to hand over to the most vile, reprehensible, power-mad rakes among his enemies.

It was a disaster of epic proportions. And it was all due to his failure. His lack of judgment. His—selfish whim.

He would like to claim it was the alcohol surging through his system that was responsible for his appallingly poor decision-making over the last twelve hours, or even senility, or madness. But the worst part of all was that it wasn’t any of those things. Tipsy he may have been when her “gift” to him had arrived, he was lonely to the depth of his soul. And the only woman who could ever ease his suffering was the one woman he couldn’t have--The Queen of England.

It was ludicrous.

If he wasn’t such a tragic mess, he’d laugh at himself. What a doddering old fool he was. Worst of all, to think that he could ever mean more to her than…a sort of kindly old uncle. That she could give her heart to him when…God, she was so young. She at least had some excuse. He had none.

The sound of horses and a carriage clattering along to his doorstep set his heart racing.

By God, she was here! And no matter what, things had been set in motion now that could not be undone. No matter what their day might consist of henceforth, no matter how gentlemanly he behaved and how chaste and upright their behavior, the world would assume that he would pounce on her the moment she hit the door. Good God, what a mess!

And he was wholly, utterly culpable.

Still. It would not do for her to see him in disarray. Using a mirror in the hall, he straightened his black cravat, buttoned his matching black velvet waistcoat and brushed imaginary lint from the deep red of his jacket. Victoria liked him to wear red, and the coat was new. Suitable for Christmas anyway. He looked at his reflection critically, and combed with trembling fingers his hair back into a semblance of place. His expression was tight, and there was tension around his eyes. And no wonder. But he swallowed hard, and tried to relax his features into a welcoming expression as he strode quickly down the corridor.

Not quickly enough.

His steward met him halfway.

“The Queen is here, My Lord. She is awaiting your pleasure in the Library.”

 _What a very unfortunate choice of words_ , Melbourne thought morosely.

“Thank you. Offer her refreshment. I will be there shortly.”

He took a deep breath. His heart was beating frantically. He tried to calm himself, but he soon realized he was fighting a losing battle.

She was here. Good God, Victoria was here, under his roof, at his invitation, quite alone!  She had risked everything—everything! To come to him this way. His heart swelled with emotion.

He gazed for a moment at his reflection, silently coming to grips with the momentous decision they had both made with this folly. Then he turned with acceptance, and strode toward the library.

* * *

Victoria paced up and down the room. It was beautifully proportioned for a library. Massive windows on one side, majestic paintings and books everywhere.

But where was the man who’s presence so filled this room, and any other that he was in? Having come so far, she was an agony of apprehension. What if he did not wish to see her after all? What if he should be cross with her? What if he should have left to avoid her entirely?

She was saved these imaginings by a door opening and a liveried steward entering the room.

“Lord Melbourne, Your Majesty.”

Her breath caught as she saw him, dressed in a gorgeous deep red jacket and faun colored breeches. He was the most breathtaking man she had ever laid eyes on. All her doubts melted away when her eyes met his.

“Your Majesty!” He said brightly, dropping to one knee before her and taking her hand to kiss.

Her eyes closed and she exhaled softly. 

“Merry Christmas, Lord M! You are looking very…festive.”

“Well, red is a color of the season, after all, Ma’am. Merry Christmas to you too!” His eyes swept her, and she felt herself blush, hoping he liked what he saw.

She thought he must have, for his eyes were alight and glittering with pleasure as they rested on her.  She'd hoped for this reaction.  The gown she wore was a deep green silk, very fitted through the bodice and all the way off her shoulders.  While it was seasonally appropriate, that was not why she had chosen this fabric in exactly this color.  She wondered if he would realize the real meaning behind it.

“I see you received my gift as well,” he said, his eyes coming to rest momentarily on the center of her decolletage, then rising to take in the others in her hair. “I trust you enjoyed them.”

“I do,” she said, swallowing hard. “You know I always do.”

He blinked, and cleared his throat.  And Victoria bit her lip.  She had intended it as a light comment but instead, it sounded much different when she voiced it--with far more true, heart-felt meaning than she had meant to communicate. 

If he marked it though, he said nothing about it. 

“To…what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, especially on such a momentous day?”  He stroked one eyebrow with his finger in a gesture she always thought so adorable, and yet she was frustrated. 

They were stuck in pleasantries, she realized. He knew why she was here. And so did she. And they neither could acknowledge it openly.  Berating herself for a coward, she continued down the same line, feeling trapped by words, absolutely choked by them--by the ones she could not help saying as much as by the ones she could not voice.

“I…hope I do not inconvenience you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I…was on my way to Windsor and…”

“Ah,” he said, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Well. Emma and Skerett were accompanying me, and Emma’s sister was taken ill. So of course we had to come here straight away.”  She was babbling.  She could hear herself babbling! Why did she always do this?  Why could she not just say what she wished to say?

“Of course.”

“And Emma will not be able to travel onward now until at least tomorrow.”

“And as your estate was nearby, I felt I should very much like to see you today. I have missed you after all. On Christmas.”

She saw his throat move, his eyes shudder and blink as he nodded, taking in her excuse.  The air between them became even heavier with things they were not saying.  Or at least, that she was not?  What if she had imagined his part of things?  What if he had no feelings for her at all?  The thought chilled her to the bone.

“Most…understandable, Ma’am. I too am very pleased to see you.”

“So I am not intruding?” she said hopefully, unable to peel her eyes away from him, away from the way the afternoon light hit his eyes and turned them golden.

“Of course not. Brocket Hall is always honored by your presence, Ma’am. May I ask…when you are planning to travel onward to Windsor?”

“I have sent a message on to Windsor announcing our change of plan. Tomorrow. Or perhaps the day after. Whenever Emma’s sister has recovered enough to allow her to travel again.”

“I see.” He captured her hand in his, stroking it thoughtfully as he smiled down at it.

Victoria held her breath. She loved it when he touched her. Even if he was only holding her hand. There was connection between them…contact. And proximity. He was so close she could examine him in great detail, could smell the slightly woodsy, slightly bookish scent of him, could admire the lines of his strong body and face, the masculine glory of him so dapper in his deep red coat.

She could see his clean shaven face, the strong line of his cheek, the little scar at the corner of his mouth that curved so deliciously when he smiled.

Could feel his large, capable, strong hand holding hers, caressing her fingers softly as he studied it.

His other hand landed on top of hers, and her eyes fluttered shut. Her hand between both of his! They were so warm and thick, such kind, caring hands, so strong and so soft, just like the man himself...

Warmth from the contact spread up her arms.

“You really…we really…shouldn’t be doing this, you know.” He said softly. “You have taken an awful risk coming here, My Queen.”

She couldn’t help the gasp. He had never called her that before. It was informal, and yet acknowledged her at the same time. Personalized her. She was more than just _the_ Queen. She was _his_ Queen.  And with that, he finally broke through the wall of pleasantries.  At last--at last they could talk about what was uppermost in both of their minds.

He smiled wryly at her, his face darkening adorably, and she recognized he had not meant to say it out loud.

“My apologies…Ma’am. I am afraid I am quite…overcome…by your presence.” His voice caught, and he clung to her hand, stroking and stroking as if it were a lifeline. “I should never have encouraged you to do so. I have been…f-foolish and…and selfish and…” he took a deep shuddering breath, speaking to her hand now and not to her face. “I’m afraid I may have cost you…everything.”

“Lord M—”

He shook his head. “When it is known that you have come here today…”

“What do you mean, ‘when it is known’? I have taken the greatest of precautions!”

He raised his tortured expression to her face, gazing at her with a softness in his glowing golden eyes that quite left her breathless. “You do not really think everyone will believe your story, do you? Is it not a little obviously contrived? And when the facts come to light about the letters, the flowers, in the middle of the night…people will assume the worst of us. They will assume the worst has been going on from the very beginning. My…career…cannot weather another scandal involving a woman. Any woman. But you—” He shook his head. “You of all women? I am...a fool, Ma'am. I deserve whatever may befall me. But you…you do not deserve any such thing.” He was trembling now, but raised her hand to his lips, pressed his lips hard against her knuckles and held them there. “And yet…it will cost you,” he nodded, eyes still lowered onto her hand. “Everything. The c-crown. Your rightful place as Qu-Queen. Your good name. Your…virtue.” He closed his eyes in pain.

“Dearest Lord M! Surely you do not believe so much tragedy will befall us as the result of one visit?” she fumbled with her hand, tried to clasp one of his but he would not release it. "I...did not mean to distress you, Lord M.  Perhaps I should not have come today."  She said it in a small, hurt voice. 

He shook his head. “No.  It is not your fault.  Not any of it.  You are an innocent young woman with a large heart and…it is your compassion for me that brings you here today…but I fear that may be your undoing.”

“My compassion? Truly? You think I feel sorry for you?! Why ever for? Lord M! Have you…perhaps…had too much to drink?”  She was in turn affronted, defensive, and truly concerned for him, so sorrowful did he appear.

He scoffed. “No.”

“Then why do you think it is sympathy that brings me to you on Christmas day? Do you suppose that is all I feel?” The words were out of her mouth before she could contain them. But once they were out there, she did not wish them back again. “I think you must know it is a great deal more than that which brings me here, Lord Melbourne.”

He let out a shuddering breath, but shook his head. “It cannot be…”

“Why can it not?”

“Because you are—so young and lovely, My Queen! Why should you wish to waste that on an old man like myself?”

“You are NOT old!” She stamped a foot in outrage. “My Uncle Sussex is old! Not you!”

He snorted a laugh. “Your Uncle Sussex is only six years older than myself.”

“Well there you are!”

He shook his head still laughing.  Victoria was nearly in tears.

“Lord Melbourne! Cease your laughter this moment! I am in earnest! Why can you not believe that I am in love you!”

Both of them froze; neither could believe the words she’d uttered.

Victoria blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. This wasn’t going at all the way she envisioned. The way she wanted.  It was all wrong!  Her lovely plans...all confused and...and...ruined by her own awkwardness.  Perhaps he was right.  Perhaps she was just a foolish young girl.  Perhaps she did not even know what real love was.  How foolish she must look to his eyes!  How foolish her gift?  Her whole scheme!  And he was just a good, kind man, indulgent and agreeable enough to overlook her awkward attempts at courtship so that they could maintain a good working relationship for the good of the country.

She felt her heart crumble, pressed on both sides as if by a terrific weight.  _Foolish child,_ she could hear Sir John sneering in her mind.  _What makes you think you could ever be someone that a man like him could actually love?  You?!  No more than a chit of a girl who still plays with dolls and pretends to be Queen! And he is a man of substance and taste, who could have his choice of any refined and sophisticated woman.  Who already has had his choice..._

“Perhaps I should go,” she her herself say woodenly, her heart stinging with the most terrible, stinging pain she'd ever felt.  It was sharp and jagged, and so great she could hardly draw breath. “I am truly sorry to have disturbed your peace, Lord Melbourne.” She saw the concern light his eyes as she turned abruptly away.  She could not face him now.  She could not bear to.  It was all she could do to stop herself from running from his presence out of the library, down the hall and straight out into the snow, too humiliated even to ride back to Emma's in her coach. 

“Your Majesty!  Wait, please!”  The pain in his voice redoubled the stabbing feeling in her chest.  Why could he not let her go in silence?  Why could he not spare her the little remaining dignity she had?

But she could deny him nothing.

She paused under the doorway and turned back to him, her vision blurred by her own tears.

He came to her slowly, his eyes soft as he looked at her. He drew up next to her and took her hands in his own again and kissed them. “I will not hinder you. But I do not wish you to go.”

His eyes held hers captive, gazing at her with such tenderness that she almost sighed aloud. He released her hands and cupped her face, brushing the tears away from her cheeks lovingly.

“Look up,” he whispered.

Victoria did and saw her mistletoe, hanging directly over her head. When she lowered her eyes back to Lord M, he was leaning in toward her. Victoria watched spellbound, as the prince of her heart drew closer and closer, his beautiful eyes hooded, the lips she’d so fantasized about drawing closer and closer to her own.

Until…ohhhh!

Such bliss!

He was kissing her! Victoria's heart soared.  From the depth of despair to the heights of sheer joy.  She had not been wrong after all.  Her momentary doubt erased forever by the touch of his mouth against hers.  His lips brushing hers with whisper softness, almost shyly. She moved her lips against his awkwardly. If only she knew what to do, how to please him!

He made a sound of desperation deep in his throat which rippled all through her, and suddenly he was pulling her tight against him, wrapping her warmly in his arms as the pressure of his mouth against hers increased and he began tugging at her lips with hers, as if he meant to devour her.  She could feel the wildness in him, feel his control slipping and she knew then, without knowing how she knew, that he had wanted to kiss her this way for a very long time.

Victoria sighed with pleasure as her knees threatened to buckle beneath her.  This was everything she'd ever wanted!  That she could inspire this kind of feeling from him was...her very own miracle.  Her heart swelled fit to burst with the love she bore him.  She reached up to cup his face in her palms and was rewarded when she felt a shudder roll through him.

All too soon, he released her with reluctance, his heart in his eyes.

They stood there silently, gazing at each other, not speaking, both afraid to break the spell--afraid the other would be lost to them forever if they did but move.  Victoria's lips tingled with the memory of his touch.  She willed them never to stop tingling...never to forget the feeling of his kiss. 

At length she exhaled in almost a sigh, and he smiled a little, caressing her face. “I’m am honored,” he said softly, still stroking her cheek, “that you allowed me to give you your first ever kiss, Your Majesty.”

She swallowed hard, feeling her cheeks burn. Was it so obvious that she didn't know what to do?  “Was I...so very bad at it?  I felt I must have been."  She licked her lips, still tasting him.  Still wanting to taste him even more.  "But I quite enjoyed your part of it, Lord M.”

He huffed out a chuckle, his eyes lighting. “No. You were very good…Ma’am.  A natural.” His thumb stroked back and forth, across her cheek, his eyes on her mouth, looking for all the world as if he wanted to do it again.  

 _Oh please,_ she thought at him, _please do it again!  I could never have enough of your kisses._

“All you require is…practice.”  His thumb slid across her lips, slowly, haltingly, as if afraid to touch her. Her eyes opened and her breath caught at the way he was looking at her, his green eyes dark with something like...hunger.

“Practice? Indeed, Lord M?” She forced the words past her trembling lips.

“Mmm. Preferably by someone who knows how. Often.”

“Have you anyone you can recommend then?”

“I can think of only one person, Ma’am.”

She was staring at his mouth now. His beautiful lips, pinker now for exercize. Had she really just felt them on her own?  Had they really moved so passionately against her?  Had he really just used them to suggest more of the same? She moistened her lips again, quite unconsciously, her eyes still on his lips, wanting...oh so much more of them.

“As can I,” she said boldly, raising her eyes to his.

He needed no other prompting. He leaned in and kissed her again.

* * *

Delectable.

Oh God, she was delectable.  Exquisite.  She was everything he could ever dream.  This was her first kiss--he knew it to be so even before he had touched her, but to feel all her earnestness, her awkward passion against his own mouth charmed him to the very core.  And he would make this special for her.  As special as he possibly could.  Show her what a kiss should be, what it should feel like to be kissed by a man who reveres her. Worships the ground she walks on. Cherishes her above all women, above all the whole bloody world.

He may not ever be privileged enough to call her his, but Melbourne would be damned if he did not make an impression upon her that made it damned hard for any other man to come after him to possibly live up to.  Who ever the man would be, he would have to be good. Very, very good, if he was going to erase the memory of himself from her mind.  No casual lover would ever do for his Victoria.  If someone else was to have her, he would have to work for the privilege.  Melbourne was determined to set the bar as high as it damned well could go.

So he kissed her, bringing all his former experience to bear, kissing her like a man who knew how, like a man who knew women, and what they needed and wanted most. He kissed _her_ , heart and soul, not just her lips. He kissed her with patient reverence, making love to her mouth with his, and bringing her all the love he bore her as an offering, laying his poor battered and broken heart at her feet.  He was hers, his kiss told her, to do with what she will.  But she could never again doubt his feelings, as he knew she must have done to try to leave him so abruptly. 

He kissed her and kissed her, his actions telling her of his love, kissing her as if she were the moon and the stars to him, the only woman in a thousand worlds he could ever want, eclipsing all others future and past.  And in so doing he felt himself opening to her in a way he never thought he would ever do with another woman again.  And as he kissed her, he felt himself come back alive again, her lips the fountain of his youth and vitality, more necessary to him than breathing, receiving so much in the exchange as to lose himself entirely, not knowing where he ended and she began.

She had gone almost boneless in his arms, winding her little fingers in his hair, lost in what he was making her feel, cooing and sighing in his arms as he awakened her to the pleasures a man could create in her body with his kisses. He kissed her cheek, her adorable little nose, her jaw, her neat little ear, and her beautiful swan-like neck that had always begged him to nibble, to taste.  He did both now, indulging himself as he had always wanted to, and was rewarded when she moaned--so deep and so visceral that he was bowled over by a spike of sheer lust that almost knocked him from his feet.

Oh God in heaven, how he wanted her! All of her. The more he kissed her, the more ravenous he became. This was bad. So very, very, very deliciously bad.  Starving anyway for wont of her and her alone, it was all he could do to reign himself in.

He should stop now. Right now. Send her back to Emma’s—anywhere but here. Here, neither of them was safe.

But he knew he would not.  He could not send her away now.  He was damned.  And she right along with him. And the country. And Parliament. And the whole, bloody damned world!

She was clinging to him as his mouth landed again on hers, coaxing gently until she opened beneath him. Oh, dear God! The purest bliss of her! He heard himself moan this time, as he gave her his tongue, and felt her shudder as he reverently entered her mouth, tasting every part of her, deeply and fully. Sliding his tongue against hers. Indulging himself in her sweetness. 

He was utterly, utterly lost.

There was no hope of recovery, of salvation, for him now.  If it ever had existed to begin with.

Victoria was a fast learner. Soon she was kissing him back with ardor, twirling his hair around and around her fingers. He groaned.  His need for her was becoming hard to ignore. Her touch anywhere on his body was exquisite. Victoria groaned as well in response, and he pulled her tightly into his embrace, pressing her fully against himself, plundering her mouth, unable to hold back the storm inside of his heart any longer.

“Oh!” She said, her eyes wide as released her, resting his head against hers and breathing hard.

His hands flew to her face, stroking her cheeks, gazing into the sea blue of her eyes.

“Victoria, dear God, Victoria…forgive me…forgive me please…”

“There is nothing to forgive! Oh my darling Lord M…,” she whispered, her eyes heavy lidded. His Queen had bedroom eyes--all for him.

Bloody hell, the way she was looking at him!

“William,” he whispered, nuzzling her. “Please, I want to hear my name on your lips. Just once...”

“William,” she breathed, her hands on his face, trembling, exploring, stroking him softly. He captured one of her hands in his, kissed her palm, her fingertips.

“I have dreamed of this,” she said, “So long. I have longed to feel your lips on mine. On any part of me that was not the back of my hand.”

He chuckled and pressed the palm he’d been kissing back against his own cheek. “I was not aware that kissing your hand displeased you so, Ma’am. I rather thought the opposite.”

She smiled too. “It does not displease me. It…merely made me want for you to kiss me elsewhere. And for it to last longer.” She trailed her fluttering fingers over his mouth and his eyes closed. “Such beautiful lips, and so soft…”

He should not. He really should not. But he was damned if he could help himself. He parted his lips and drew her fingers into his mouth, licking and sucking gently, her sharp intake of breath making him shiver. He opened his eyes, released her fingers, kissing them softly as he held her eyes with his.

“Do not ever, for one moment, imagine I do not share your feelings, My Queen,” he whispered, pressing her hand against his cheek and leaning into it, covering it with his own hand. “For you have so captured my heart, I know I shall never recover it.” He felt choked again, felt the tears prick at his eyes. He blinked hard against them. “You have given me the greatest gift I could ever receive this Christmas.”

She smiled a little. “I was not aware that you liked mistletoe so very much, Lord M.” She blinked at the tears in her own eyes.

He chuckled, his grin widening. “Only if you are standing beneath it. And only if it is covered in berries, so that I may go on kissing you and kissing you into infinity.”

“I can imagine no greater way to spend infinity,” She said, her eyes twinkling. “I do not care what others say of us. I do not care what may befall us. My darling, my dashing Viscount Lord Melbourne. My beloved Prime Minister, and Secretary. My dearest William. My heart is so full of you that it is fit to burst. I cannot go on living as though it is not.”

She caressed his cheek, and he felt what was left of his defenses crumble into dust.

“It will be all over the country tomorrow, you know.  That you came to see me here, quite alone.  They will not be fooled by your story, Ma'am, no matter how carefully you have constructed it."

"So be it," she whispered, brushing his hair back from his face.  "There is no place on earth I can stand to be at Christmas than by your side, Lord M.  And I will willingly face all consequences for the chance to be here alone with you.  Where we can be quite ourselves at last.  Where I can curl up in your arms and drown in your kisses and your stories without anyone to intervene." 

"I should scold you most severely," he whispered.  "My willful, stubborn, headstrong Queen.  I should send you away.  If I truly loved you, I would send you away.  I would die before dishonoring you."

"I do not wish you to do any of those things," she whispered, and then with sudden intensity that surprised him, she grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pressed her body against him.  "Dishonor me, please, my gallant Lord M!  Oh, please God, cover me in your dishonor, wrap it around us both like a cloak!  But don't send me from your side, I cannot bear it!  I cannot!!" 

It was more than he could take.  He drew her into his arms with a cry and lost himself in her kiss.


	4. Chapter 4--Christmas Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the course of conversation, Victoria's true motivation for spending Christmas with Lord M comes to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: this chapter contains elements of grief. If you are susceptible in any way to discussions of death and loss please proceed with caution. <3

Chapter 4—Christmas Past

 

Once the decision to stay was made with finality, the afternoon passed so pleasantly. They talked of everything, from state matters to personal ones, sharing some of Lord M’s best and most favorite brandy and munching delightedly on some simple but delicious creations Brocket Hall's most excellent kitchens. They toured the house, with Lord M filling her in on its history, regaling her one or two of its more colorful tales on the way by. And as they toured, even though they were quite alone, they sought out quiet, secluded, dark little corners, in which he would back her against the wall and kiss her in ever increasingly wicked ways.  Then the both of them, giddy with their new-found way of being together, would leave hand in hand, giggling away together like two naughty school children. It was the most heavenly day Victoria had ever spent. Her sweet, lovely, darling Lord M, all to herself! And to be together like this was the purest heaven she had ever known.

And when the evening came and the shadows gathered, they stood together at the large windows in the library and gazed out over the snow coming down in great white swirls of wind, blanketing the gardens around Brocket Hall and covering it in thick banks of snow that rose up to the window’s sill.

“Dear oh dear,” Lord M said, tutting at the scene. “I’m afraid Ma’am, that I cannot send you back to Emma’s tonight in weather like this. It would be far too dangerous for you to travel.”

“Mmm,” she said in assent, as his big hands landed hotly on her mostly bare shoulders, rubbing and kneading them until her knees quite buckled under her. “And the carriage ride would be uncommonly cold, even with blankets, my thickest cape and fur muff. I’m sure I should absolutely freeze.”

“That would be most unhealthy,” he agreed, his hands still working on her back and shoulders, the movements rhythmic, hypnotic, and so relaxing. “It wouldn’t do for you to catch cold, Ma’am. Especially if you were to arrive into a house of sickness and contagion.”

“That is most true, Lord M. I had not considered the possibility of contagion.” Her eyes were slowly closing as she leaned backward into his touch.   She never wanted to leave here.  Never.

“Whereas here, we have roaring fires, good food and drink, and exceedingly warm and cozy bedchambers. It would be so much more healthy for you, were you to stay here.”

She could feel his warm breath caress her neck at this speech, and she shivered, but not with cold.

“Mmm, you are most correct I believe. I am quite sure that matters of propriety must needs be overruled in conditions such as these.”

“In the matter of your safety, Ma’am, I most wholeheartedly agree.”

“Then, Lord Melbourne, you do not mind if I trespass a little longer on your hospitality, and stay the night at Brocket Hall?”

“Brocket Hall is only too delighted to be your safe harbor in a storm such as this.” His voice was husky, whispered, and broke her out in gooseflesh.

“Then we should doubtless send a message to Emma right away.”

“No need.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he said, very close to her ear, “I have done so already.”

“But the storm has only just started!”

“Yes, but…with a certain amount of experience, Ma’am, one can predict these things.”

She fizzed with laughter and turned in his arms, wrapping her own daringly beneath his opened frock coat, quite around his waist. His body was so warm inside his coat. “Indeed, Lord M, you do think of everything.”

“No,” he said, smiling his sad smile at her, his eyes glowing in the firelight. “I think only of you.” He reached out and touched her hair, stroking it thoughtfully, as Victoria sighed with contentment. Then he bent his head and kissed her sweetly. “Now then. I have asked cook to prepare us a quiet, warm and nourishing meal for us.  Would Your Majesty care to dine with me in the dining room, or here together before the fire?”

“Here together with you,” she said, and smiled. “I like the sound of that, my dearest Lord M. So very much…” she brushed her fingers across his cheek, down his jaw, loving the way his eyes closed when she touched him, as if her touch meant everything to him.

He released her and crossed to the bell pull to summon the servant and give instructions while Victoria seated herself in the chair she had occupied earlier near the great hearth.

“Please tell me you ordered us some more of your excellent brandy,” she smiled as he joined her in the chair nearest her.

“I did. Although I hope you don’t mind that I also ordered us some champagne.”

“Champagne? Why ever for?”

“Because I know you enjoy it.” He chuckled. “And I enjoy watching you enjoying it. And it is Christmas, after all.”

“Are you saying you wish for me to be drunk?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “As long as you are not holding a coronation ball, Ma'am, or hosting an assortment of over-bearing, disapproving uncles, cousins, parents, courtiers, Tories or foreign dignitaries, then yes. I do.” He raised his eyebrow at her in challenge. “You are quite adorable when drunk, and I am greatly pleasured by watching you be so.”

“My dear Lord M! You do quite shock me at times!” She laughed.

He also barked a laugh. “So my blatant pawing all over your shoulders just now, or backing you into dark corners stealing scandalous kisses all day does not shock you, but my suggesting that I enjoy watching you get drunk does.” He laughed again. “Nor apparently do I shock you by inviting you to stay for the whole of the night under my roof with just to the two of us here. Pardon me for saying so, Ma’am, but you do have quite extraordinary notions of what constitutes shocking behavior at times.” He rubbed his index finger along his brow in that gesture she found so adorable.

“I suppose you are right.” She laughed, and they were silent together for a time. “I should be shocked, perhaps. But I am too delighted by everything that has transpired between us today for shock.” She smiled at him. “Does that shock you?”

He huffed a laugh. “No indeed Ma’am. I am…delighted also, as well you know.” He contemplated his folded hands. “I should be appalled at my own behavior. In fact I am sure I shall be whenever you leave again. But I confess myself quite intoxicated whenever you are near, Your Majesty. I am quite out of my mind and acting entirely against my better judgment.”

“As am I. I find myself quite bold when you are near. But when you leave…all my courage deserts me.”

“We are, perhaps, stronger together.”

“Always,” she replied.

Dinner was brought in and laid between them, along with a bottle of Lord M’s most excellent brandy and a bottle of champagne, which he opened as soon as the door to the library closed.

“Happy Christmas, Ma’am,” he said smiling, pouring her glass. “I must confess this is the happiest Christmas I’ve had in as long as I can remember.”

“It is the happiest I have ever had, Lord M. I have felt so free today. So free of them all. All of the eyes watching me and all of the tongues wagging and chiding me. How pleasant it is to have one’s own house quite to one’s self. I do not blame you for loving Brocket so much, although I am always sad for the loss of your company whenever you retire here.”

“It is never so merry when you are not here,” he said, sobering. “Forgive me. I sound like an old, lonely man begging for sympathy.”

“You? Never.  You are NOT old, as I have reminded you,” she smiled, sipping from her champagne, provoking a smile from him. "And if I have my way, you shall never be lonely again either."

"Here's to you getting your way with me then, Ma'am," he said, holding up his glass in toast, his eyes glittering at her mischievously.

"I should love nothing better," she said, fully comprehending his double meaning. 

They shared their meal in relative companionable silence, content to be near each other, together, far away from the interference of the world outside themselves. Outside, the snow continued to fall in a great whirling mass of white, and Victoria shivered in her place next to the roaring fire every time she glanced up and happened to see the weather. With Lord M’s excellently prepared, hot and comforting dinner in her belly and the champagne fizzing warmly through her veins, she sighed, and gazed at her dinner companion, marking how the dancing firelight set his strong features in sharp relief. He was so achingly beautiful, she thought. Never had there ever been a more beautiful man than her Lord M. Her heart swelled to overflowing as he smiled at her, remembering the feel and taste of his lips pressed against hers today, of his mouth opening against hers, of his velvet tongue sliding against her own…

“Penny for your thoughts?” He said, arching an eyebrow at her playfully.

“No indeed, for they are private reflections, and not for sale.”

His gracefully masculine eyebrows shot up his forehead as his eyes lit up in challenge. “Indeed? Oh no, but that won’t do at all!” He picked up the champagne bottle and filled her glass again.

“Do you think to pry my secrets from me with more champagne, Lord Melbourne?” She said, stifling a hiccup and a giggle all at the same time.

“Not at all,” he said, grinning.

“You—are—such a bad boy!” she said giggling, taking the glass and sipping from it again.

“Am I?”  He gazed at her through half-lidded eyes, fringed by his sinfully long eyelashes.

“Mmm. Yes you are incorrigible! It isn’t gentlemanly to get a woman drunk.”

“What about a friend?”

“Oh well. That is entirely different.”

“And I am getting drunk with you, don’t forget.”

They both giggled.

She gazed at him, feeling kind of hazy around the edges. Pleasantly so. Good God, he was beautiful! She loved the way his eyes flashed and glowed in the firelight, gilding his eyelashes with gold.  She was quite sure he’d put those lashes to good use over the years. She was suddenly exceedingly angry at every woman he’d ever know apart from her.

“In any case, if one is going to get roaring drunk, it should be with a friend,” he cautioned. “Where you are quite safe.”

“Am I quite safe with you, Lord Melbourne?”

“Upon no account, Ma’am.” He gave her a devilish grin.

“For shame!” she said giggling and hiccuping madly. “You are truly very wicked! It must be why I love you so much.”

“If so, I must remember to be so at every opportunity.” He wagged his eyebrows at her.

“Oh please do,” she said, biting her lip and leaning her head to one side of her chair's tall back. “I truly do love you like this.”

“As do I,” he said, and they both laughed.

“I’m so glad I did this, you know.” She said, setting down her empty glass. “No please, no more," she said as he motioned to fill it again. "There is something I wish to say to you, and if you keep pouring champagne I shall shortly forget my own name, much less what I want to say."

“As you wish, Ma’am.” He set down the bottle, his eyes on hers expectantly.

“There is…another reason why I am here.” She turned her eyes to the fire. “Some weeks ago, I have begun having the most awful nightmares. I wake in a cold sweat, tears streaming down my face. Every time. It takes me quite some time to reconcile myself to the fact that they are only dreams.”

She glanced back at him, and smiled sadly at the look of concern etched between his brows. How she wanted to reach out and smooth that line with her fingers, with her kisses…

“I have not been able to shake them. And…” she took a deep breath. Her thoughts were hazy, but now that she had mentioned them, the dreams flooded her mind, almost choking her with remembered fear. She glanced up to see his eyes fixed on her, worry brewing in their green depths. But he said nothing, letting her talk as she willed. She took a deep breath. “I dreamed—” she choked on the words, tears filling her eyes, and she was quite unable to finish while looking at him. So she looked instead at the fire. “I dreamed I was quite old. And…you—you were…g-gone…” Her face puckered.  Even now, after this marvelous day, the memory of the horror of her dreams overwhelmed her, robbed her of breath. Squeezed the very life from her heart.

He was instantly by her side, kneeling before her, taking her hands into his, comforting her. It would not do. She shook her head, feeling the sting of her tears. 

“No. Please. I must tell you. I must. Though it is not easy for either of us.” Her eyes were earnest as she sought his, as full of tears now as her own. “I—I—” she struggled to normalize her voice, to control the flood of emotion from her suddenly breaking heart. “I dreamed…that we…that we…never…even k-kissed. Never l-loved each other, though we wanted it…dreamed it, needed it and…then I married someone else. And you—and you—”

He scooped her into his arms, and she gave way to sobs against his beautiful velvet waistcoat, wrapping her arms around his neck, the solid warmth and familiar scent of him piercing her soul all the more.

“You died,” she whispered, tightening her arms. “And I lived on and on, never forgetting. Regretting with every fiber of my being that I listened to them all! That we never…oh Lord M! I couldn’t bear it! I couldn’t bear the pain--”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, his mouth covering and claiming her, hard and deep and passionate as he cradled her head in his big hands, giving her his tongue again, their tears mingling.

“I love you so,” she cried against his cheek as his lips drifted to her throat. “Oh my dearest William!"  His lips found hers again and she kissed him as hard as she could, as if in so doing she could command him never to leave her, she could banish the awful cold horrid future day that he would be gone. He groaned beneath her demanding lips, his hands on her shoulders trembling as she kissed away his tears, the line between his brows, the tip of his elegant nose.

“Oh my darling, darling girl!” He whispered, his voice ragged and hoarse, completely overcome as she set about determined to kiss the entirety of his beloved face. “Do not weep for me, my love…do not weep...God willing, that will be a long time hence."

"I do not wish it ever to come!"

"I know, Ma'am.  But some things in life are an inevitability we cannot avoid."  He stroked her hair and shushed her softly.  "I do not wish to leave you either."  He lay his cheek against her hair.  "When the time comes, you must be brave.  You will go on.  You will love again."

"I will never love again!" She said vehemently.  "No one could ever take your place!  I cannot bear even the suggestion!"

"But you must," he said softly.  "I have known loneliness, Ma'am.  I would not wish you to ever experience it.  And if I am not here to comfort you, I would wish you to find comfort where you may."

"No!" she cried, clutching at him.  "No!"

"Well, it will be a long time from now, I should hope.  And in the meantime, it is never good to borrow trouble.  Today has enough of its own.  Best to take things one day at a time, Ma'am.  Living in fear of a thing does not vanquish the power of the thing itself, whenever it does strike.  It merely robs you of your joy in the present." 

“Nevertheless, I have come to a decision.  I don’t care anymore what anyone says,” she cried as he cradled her against him, rubbing her arms and shoulders and rocking her softly. “I need you! And I will not allow them to take you from me—now or ever!”

"But it is more than the opinion of others which we must contend with, Ma'am."

 "I don't care what it is!  We will deal with it!  I cannot bear a future where I have been robbed of you, and have no memories even to give me comfort!  Just an aching, gnawing hunger and rage.  Just the agony of having lost you and knowing that I could have had you if I had only been willing to weather the tempest of public opinion.  I learned something from my dream, Lord M.  I don't care a fig for public opinion.  I love you, and be damned to the rest of them!"

His lips found hers again in a searing kiss, and it was some time before either of them spoke again.

“Victoria,” he breathed, “You honor me far beyond my deserving, Ma'am.  But it pleases me to know that when I leave this world, my death will matter to someone.  But that it matters to you, that is the greatest and most terrible of all.  Great because each of your tears marks your great love for me, which is more precious to me than anything in all the world.  Terrible because I will have caused you such anguish and not be here to soothe you."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself closer to him, wanting to feel him pressed against her.  It was some time before she realized she'd climbed completely into his lap and was now perched astride his thighs.

His eyes were dark and bottomless when she sought them, an unreadable expression brimming in them as he gazed at her.  "Victoria, you…you must retire, I think, Ma’am. I—find I am—quite overcome after our day together. And where you are concerned my resistance is very weak indeed.”

She shook her head, her dream as fresh in her mind as when she awoke. No.  She had tasted despair in her dream. She was quite determined.  She might never get another chance.

“William I...I do not think I can retire...not without you."

He blinked at her, astonishment written plainly on his features.  “My God, Victoria, you do not know what you’re asking me!”

“I do,” she whispered against his cheek, feeling suddenly, unaccountably shy. “I want it to be you. It should be you. I love you, my William. My Lord M.”

He groaned, a raw, hungry sound deep in his throat. Her eyes closed as something like shock waves rolled through her and she trembled.

“Oh God,” he said, his voice thick and husky, his hands heavy on her back. “How I adore you! And how sorely you tempt me!”

“Please,” she said, her arms around his neck. “I can’t bear the thought of being here and not being with you.”

He was quiet a long time, holding her, stroking her back soothingly.  Finally he replied in a low voice.  “And what will you do on your wedding night, hmm?” His eyes were glazed with pain and tears as he gazed at her bravely, so choked with emotion he could hardly form the words, “when your husband takes you to bed for the first time, and discovers you are not a maid any longer? How then will you hate me, will you think of me as a thief who has stolen away something that never belonged to him by rights? I would rather you have cause to grieve me someday, My Darling, than reason to curse me for taking advantage of a girlish fancy,” he tried to smile but failed, his mouth trembling with emotion, “when you were young and vulnerable and did not know better, but I did.” He swallowed hard and blinked his eyes against the pain she saw swimming there. “Besides. If you cry so prettily for me when that time comes as you do tonight, My Love, I shall die a happy man. It is enough that our hearts are one,” he said, kissing her forehead, “at least for a time. It is less damaging that way than if our bodies follow where they lead.”

She let out a cry of pain and threw herself against his shoulder, burying her face against the soft velvet of his waistcoat, giving way to her tears as she felt her heart break.

“No,” she whimpered. “Please do not turn me away!” The pain—oh God the pain! She couldn’t bear it! She twirled his hair tightly in her fingers, holding him tightly as she could to herself. “I need you so. I know I shall never hate you. I shall never have cause to regret anything between us. I swear it!”

“I know you mean so now,” he said, his voice as tremulous as hers. “But you will not always feel so. It is better this way, My Love. Though you feel hurt now, someday you will thank me.”

“Lord M, please do not say such things to me! Please do not turn me away!”

“I love you too much. Yes, I want you. More than I can ever express. More than you will ever know. But it cannot be that way between us.” He kissed the top of her head. “Perhaps what we have shared today will be enough to help vanquish your dreams, My Love. Oh Victoria!” He held her tightly. “It is enough, my dearest girl, my beautiful angel, it must be enough. For us both!”

“I love you,” she said tightly to his shoulder. “Oh God, I shall love you till I die!”

“And I you, Your Majesty. Never doubt it,” he said softly, folded her into his arms as well, rocking her gently as they cried together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This dream of Victoria's was actually the starting point for the development of this story. Originally it was going to be told much differently, with Victoria actually being an older woman sick with regret over what she let slide through her fingers. Then she gets a chance--either through illness or dreams or straight travel--to relive this part of her life and correct her mistakes. 
> 
> But in the end, I liked this version better. And it was through her dream that we get the connection to A Christmas Carol. We begin in the present, but in light of Victoria's dreams of the future, her happy day with Lord M could be viewed as the Past, and then of course the dream itself represents the ghost of Christmas future. A bit of a stretch, admittedly, but as previously stated, this was not meant to be a parody story. It just borrowed conceptually from it. Essentially both put forth the theme of regret and missed opportunity, along with the idea of a...ahem...second chance...to put things right. ;)


	5. Chapter 5--The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria is haunted once again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: this chapter also contains elements of grief. If you are susceptible in any way to discussions of death and loss please proceed with caution. <3

Chapter 5—The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come

Melbourne lay his little Queen down gently onto the big fourposter bed. He didn’t trust himself to remove more then her slippers before pulling the heavy feather down coverlet over her sleeping form, as carefully as he could so as not to wrinkle her elegant gown unduly. Brushing her hair back from her beautiful, doll-like face, he kissed each of her eyelids, and the tip of her adorable upturned nose, and whispered softly over her before turning to stoke the fire up, and tiptoe from the room, closing the door swiftly and softly behind himself.

Would that he could bar himself from it from the outside. 

God in heaven, he thought, rubbing his hand tiredly behind his neck. He could not remember a time when he had wanted a woman so much and denied himself so vehemently as he had tonight. His whole body screamed for her. But his mind…his heart knew it was not to be.

It was for the best. He knew it was. For _her_ best. And that was what mattered the most.

After they had cried themselves out, they had returned to their drinking, polishing off the rest of the champagne between them, after which he’d beaten her hollow at a full match of cribbage, when she became so groggy she could not sit upright anymore. And small wonder, considering the hour was somewhere near three in the morning. 

He could not remember a Christmas when he had ever been happier.

He stood outside her door, laid a hand on it softly. It would have to be enough, he told himself severely, that they had had this time together. For he could never expect…and nor could she.

This one night she was under his roof. Down the hall from his own room. So near. So very near. It was enough to make his heart burst from loving and wanting her.

Just for tonight, he told himself, he would not think about the future. He would not imagine her in the arms of another man, forgetting him entirely, leaving him an even lonelier old man than he was before he met her.

Just this one night, he wanted to pretend--at least pretend--that maybe, just maybe, he could have her one day.  He wanted just once to allow himself to drift off in happy contemplation of such an outcome.

Yes, it had been a very special day.

“Happy Christmas, My Queen,” he whispered to her door, laying his head against it once, briefly, reliving the feel of her sweet, eager lips pressed against his. God, he’d remember that for the rest of his life. Perhaps the memory would suffice him during the long, cold, lonely nights of his future.

He turned, and plodded off for his own, too-large, too cold bed. He hated being there, alone. But somehow tonight, he didn’t want to sleep in his favorite chair. Perhaps he would drift off to sleep imagining her by his side.

It was as close to sleeping next to her as he was likely to ever be.

* * *

Victoria sat bolt upright, screaming. 

Her heart thudding in her chest as reality came back to her, she took in her surroundings. She was not at the palace. She remembered then where she was…and who else was here along with her.  She wept with relief, and threw up a prayer of gratitude that the horrors she’d just lived through were nothing but a dream.

For now. But the day was coming.  Of course she knew it was. And where would she find comfort then? 

Pushing away the thought, she scrubbed vigorously at her cheeks, drying them on the coverlet.  Her hands were shaking.  It had been so real!  Too real.  She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. 

 _It was a dream_ , she told herself firmly.  _Nothing but a horrid dream.  He is alive.  He is well.  He is here.  That is all that matters._

But it wasn't enough.  Dread clung to her, hung on her like the tatters of grave clothes.  Across her room, the fire burned low in the hearth. It was chilly, and outside the wind was howling, the snow a blanket of white suspended outside her window.  Her inner landscape felt the same.  Bleak.  Cold.  Lonely.  And filled with forebodings and fears she could not shake. 

If only little Dash were here!  Then perhaps she could hold him and pet him and feel comforted.  But he was far away.  And she felt quite alone.

She moved to the edge of her bed and stood up painfully, her dream imagery still too real in her mind. She discovered she was still dressed fully in her corset and gown, only her slippers had been removed.

Had he put her to bed, she wondered? She didn’t remember coming up the stairs on her own. Oh, the thought of his hands on her!  A glance at the hearth revealed her green slippers there, placed perfectly together before the fire.  He had put her to bed.  Only he would be so thoughtful. 

God, how her head was spinning! Or was it the room that was spinning...it was so hard to tell.

There was water by a bed stand, and she drank thirstily, then removed herself to the privy closet for a moment. She returned to the large bed in the center of the darkened room and shivered. She could hardly bear the sight of it.  She had never felt so lonely.  So small and afraid. 

She paced up and down the little room unsteadily, wringing her hands, contemplating something far too shameful to be contemplating. And yet…she looked again at the blinding white blanket of snow past her window, the large empty bed, and knew.  The moment she lay down again, the dream would claim her.  She could not bear it a second time.

Her decision made, she opened the door and staggered slightly into the corridor, holding her candle aloft. The big house was so beautiful, but at this hour, bereft of the presence of the man who made his home so vibrant, so alive, it seemed so empty and sad.

He had taken her through here before today, pointing out this room, and that. If her bearings were right, then…yes, it was this one. Pressing her ear to the door, she soon had confirmation. She could hear his soft snoring beyond. It made her smile, and she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.  He was asleep, and all was well.

Taking a deep breath, she hesitated.  But the thought of her empty desolate room, and the nightmare waiting for her there steeled her resolve.  She turned the knob.

The door opened soundlessly, for which she was grateful. If Lord M were to find her here, he would be shocked. He would reprimand her and send her back to her own room and then probably bolt her out.  It was the last of these she could not bear to contemplate at the moment.  No, it was imperative she did not wake him.  

Still, she all but ran to the bed that dominated the room, a beautiful giant fourposter, and stood gazing down at the darling man sleeping soundly inside of it, eyes widening at the sight of his bare chest beneath the coverlet.

Resisting the overwhelming urge to touch him, she removed to the far side of the room. Hardly stopping to think at all rationally, she struggled out of her gown and corset and underskirts, laying the layers one by one over the back of an obliging chair, until she was comfortable and only in her shift again. She then reached up into her hair and released all the flowers and pins and braids, letting her long hair cascade down around hers shoulders loose.  There!  What a relief to be free of all of that, she thought! She could not bear it any longer!  But yet, it was so much more chilly this way. Without hesitation, she crossed the room to the bed again, her feet still unsteady, her head still swimming with pain and remembered sorrow, blew out the candle, and climbed in carefully beside him.

She wouldn't stay long, she told herself. Only a few moments. It had long been a secret fantasy of hers to imagine herself married to Lord M.  Oh how she had wondered what it would be like to have him quite in her own bed with her?  To curl up next to him and sleep. She would probably never get another night under his roof--probably never have another opportunity to indulge herself so freely.  To know truly what sleeping next to him would be like.  Of course, she wouldn't be her long enough to sleep.  Only long enough to get a taste of what it would be like to snuggle next to him in bed. Then she would go back to her room, close her eyes quite tightly and pretend he was still there, next to her. Perhaps, just perhaps, the memory of this would help banish her dreams. 

The heat of his body beneath the coverlet instantly warmed her, and she shivered with delight. So much warmer than her own bed, with only herself in there to heat it! She scooted carefully closer to him, and closer still—as close as she dared—and bit her lip to keep from touching his broad, beautiful back, the exposed expanse of skin and muscle so very tempting.

This was better. So much better! This was heaven itself! Oh if only she could stay here like this all night!  If only this were her rightful place next to him!  It would be so lovely to be married to him.  So very lovely...

Victoria closed her eyes with a sigh, luxuriating in his warmth and presence, breathing in his scent. _Just a few moments longer_ , she promised herself, and then I must leave. _And he will never know I was ever here._

_Just a few more moments, to last me a lifetime..._

* * *

Lord Melbourne stirred, sighing in his sleep. Reaching out absently, he took the little hand resting lightly on his waist and pulled it closer around himself, pressing it firmly against his midsection, covering it with his own. He could feel its owner pressed against his back, her slight body touching his all the way down her length. He sighed in contentment.

Victoria, his beautiful little Victoria…

They had been riding, and her horse had come up lame. So he’d hoisted her up behind him on his own mount, her exquisitely tiny little form pressed pleasantly against his back, her hands around his middle, holding on to him as they rode.

Good God, he could feel her perfect little breasts, pressed against his back, bouncing and jiggling against him with every bump in the road. He was ashamed of himself for trying manufacture or find as many bumps as possible. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to spin her around himself, press her to the front of him instead…

His eyes opened.

He was in bed. But he was not alone.

A woman with her arm drawn around him, her hand pressed flat on his bare belly—placed there by he himself. Her breasts brushed against his back, and her face was nestled against the back of his shoulders. He could hear her steady even breathing, could feel the warmth puff of her breath blooming pleasantly against the skin of his back.

He swallowed hard, scarcely daring to breathe himself. He stared at the delicate, white hand resting against him as if expecting it to explain itself. Oh yes, he knew that hand very well. As many times as he’d dropped to his knees before its owner to kiss it, he ought to.

_Victoria!_

Dear God. What was she doing here? Had he—?  He searched his memory frantically.  No. He had put her to bed. Her own bed. He remembered it distinctly.

God how his head ached! But still his body reacted to her nearness, in instant and very dangerous and uncomfortable ways.

She sighed, a sound of utter contentment that rolled through him deliciously, making the problem worse. It was still snowing outside, and the temperature of his room had dropped considerably with the fire banked low in the hearth. But underneath the coverlet, the Prime Minister and the Queen of England were wrapped in the toasty warmth that two bodies snuggled together beneath feather down could produce. It was sublime—or it would have been, were it not for the fact that Melbourne could almost see Sir John Conroy, with the Dukes of Cumberland and Wellington hot on his heels bursting through his chamber door at any moment. God, he could almost picture Sir Robert Peel and several of his cronies hiding under the bed, waiting for the precise moment to pounce on him.

The thought sobered him enough to remove her hand from his body gently and move slowly away from her, so as not to disturb her.

Bloody hellfire, he thought, rubbing his hand through his hair distractedly, what in the blazes was she doing here? And…oh dear God! Were those her clothes draped across his chair?

Were there no end to her self-destructive behaviors? He thought exasperatedly. Was she just hell bent of ruining the both of them?

Outside, the snow was still coming down, blowing and swirling in the wind. In fact it sounded as though Brocket Hall were an island bastion, standing bravely against the onslaught of what must be the worst snowstorm in the last few years, so loudly was the wind howling about the house. He crossed the room to the hearth, threw a shirt over his shoulders and added a new log, stoking the fire until it blazed again with warmth before crossing to the window to gaze out at a blanket of solid white.

This was serious. This was very serious indeed. Victoria was here with him, for all intents and purposes completely alone at Brocket Hall, save for his steward, one footman and his cook, all of which lived two floors above in the attic rooms. And if the snow accumulated as much as he thought it must do in a storm like this, travel would be impossible to or from the house for several days.

Several days in which he would be alone with his Queen.

He gazed back to the bed, allowing himself for the first time to gaze at her sleeping form. God, she looked so young. Far too young to be burdened with the running of a country. She should be doing what all young girls were doing at her age…shopping, playing cards with friends, attending balls at which she would dance with handsome young men eager to win her favor, eventually selecting one who stood out from all the rest…one who would be her husband. They would be married, and it would be he who stood here by the bed in their now-shared chamber, gazing at his sleeping bride and contemplating how he’d ever deserved this beauteous creature who had attached herself to him. Thinking delicious thoughts about how best to enjoy their marriage bed on a snow-blind day like today.

He turned away, trying to unsee the clear outline of her breasts through the thin fabric of her shift. And she’d been cuddled up next to him! No wonder he’d dreamed of her breasts that way. Bloody hell. How had he found the strength of character not to turn in her arms and taste her succulent mouth again, to cradle the weight of her breasts in his hands as he—

He ran a hand through his hair wildly.

His thoughts were wild. His body throbbing with need.

He should leave this room at once. _At once!_

And yet…

He knew he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

A sound from the bed caught all of his attention and he turned back to see Victoria, thrashing, sounds of distress coming from her. He crossed the room to her side just as she sat up screaming, “NOOO!”

He was so alarmed he forgot all his lustful thoughts, his gentlemanly hesitations and all sense of propriety all at the same time. He had only one commandment—to go to her. To do whatever it took to ease her suffering.

“Your Majesty?” he whispered.

She started and turned toward his voice. “Lord M?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I am here,” he said, climbing across to her, growing more alarmed at the stricken look of her face, the tears in her eyes. “Ma’am? What is it? What ails you My Queen?”

“Oh God! Lord M!” She cried and threw herself fully into his arms, clinging to him as if her life depended on it. “Oh thank God!”

“What is wrong?” He asked, smoothing her hair away from her face, his eyes closing in pleasure for a moment. To have her so intimately his, even for one night…he circled his arms around her and pulled her into himself, unsure who was comforting who and not even caring.

“I had the dream again! That horrid dream!” she wailed, her hot tears soaking through the thin linen of his shirt, anointing his skin beneath it. “Oh Lord M, I never want to sleep again! Not without you by my side to help me banish it. I cannot bear it! I cannot!”

His heart exploded.

So that was why she was here!

She had dreamed his death again, and had come here to convince herself that he still lived!

Any little part of him that had thus far remained independent of her, he officially surrendered. Moved beyond words, his heart melted in his chest, he wrapped his arms even more securely around her, lending her all the warmth and reassurance his presence could give. Laying his cheek against the top of her head, and his heart at her feet, he closed his eyes and let the moment shatter him as it would. He was through fighting it all. He was totally and irrevocably hers. May God have mercy on his foolish old soul.

“I am here, Ma’am,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling the hot press of tears escaping. “Hush now, I am here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific elements of Victoria's nightmare were deliberately withheld from the narrative in order to make reading easier for anyone who might have issues. I tried instead to emphasize more her reaction to the dream without delving into the details of it. This may have sacrificed a degree of quality in the narrative, for which I apologize. But sometimes...its just better to hold the imagination in check. I hope I can be forgiven.


	6. Chapter 6--Criminal Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord M and Victoria awake to a bright and beautiful morning after Christmas.

Chapter 6—Criminal Conversations

 

The morning dawned, glistening white.

Victoria awoke to find herself asleep on the best pillow she’d ever rested upon—her Lord M. His heartbeat was reassuring and strong beneath her cheek, the rise and fall of his chest with his even breathing soothing to her spirit. His hand was heavy in her hair, his arm an iron band around her shoulders. And her head throbbed appallingly.

But she didn’t mind at all.

His white shirt was open at the neck, allowing her a fascinating view of his throat, and the dark, springy hairs that peeked out from the part of his chest just below his collarbone. She gazed at it a long time. What would it feel like, she wondered, to just…touch them? Just a touch? Would they be soft? Would he mind very much?

It was beyond lovely to be so close to him. So intimate.

She closed her eyes and exhaled. To be this way with him every night…oh, she could hardly imagine such bliss! He was so warm and strong and…well, big and…male. And kind and good to her, and wise and funny and warm and…

Everything.  He was everything.

She wanted to stay this way forever. Forever by his side, to have him look on her and smile with that soft expression he wore sometimes in his bright green eyes…it didn’t seem like much to ask.

“Good morning…Ma’am.”

His voice was soft but she still started. She had been lost in her thoughts and unaware he was awake. He smiled at her, through the thick fringe of his long lashes, eyes opened only to slits as he regarded her. But something in his expression made her heart beat faster.

His hand moved in her unbound hair, softly sliding all the way to the ends and holding a few long strands up to the light before dropping them again.

“My God, your hair is like silk,” he whispered, voice husky. “So lovely.”

In the light of the morning, Victoria felt foolish for her night fears, as well as for her fantasies.

“Good morning, Lord M. I’m sorry…I fear I was…not myself last night. I am sorry to have encroached on your privacy without so much as a warning.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “No. Don’t apologize. I’m glad you came, you know.” He whispered the last sentence. “Though we won’t tell anyone our shocking little secret. It would cause no end of scandal.”

“Yes, undoubtedly so. No one would ever believe I spent a night in your bed and left again with my virtue in tact.”

He swallowed hard, the smile vanishing. “No indeed,” he said softly.

She exhaled. “Oh Lord M—I didn’t mean it like it sounded. I—”

“I know what you meant.” He gave her that little reassuring nod, but she could still see the pain around his eyes.

“Please forgive me,” she whispered, pain stabbing her heart at the notion she’d hurt him. Quite without thinking, she reached a hand up to cradle his cheek. “Oh my dear Lord M, you must know I do not ever wish to hurt you!”

He turned his face into her palm and kissed it, his lips hot against her skin. She sucked in an involuntary breath.

Without uttering another word, he reached his free hand up into her hair and pulled her down on top of him, kissing her hard and deep.

He was so perfect. His lips were hot and firm, and there was an urgency in him that made her tremble and sigh, her body melting against his. He was so big and solid, so reassuringly real.

She cupped his face in both of her hands and returned his kiss with passion, willing him to feel everything in her heart. Her dreams had unsettled her, frightened her. In her nightmare, he was gone, utterly gone, and she was so alone and so cold and so lost without him.

To wake, and find him here beside her, very much alive…it was exhilarating. From the deepest well to the tallest peak her heart soared. And oh, how she wanted to pour herself all over him, pour out the love overflowing in her chest. For him to know fully how much he meant to her, how deeply she loved him…

Beneath her, he too was sighing, cupping her face with one hand, his other heavy on her back, pressing, holding her down, tightly against him.

They stayed that way for some time. Kissing and petting each other, enjoying the simple freedom of lying together, touching and being touched, kissing and kissing each other, as if they had every right to do so. And in the privacy of her mind, Victoria allowed herself to pretend that they did have every right. That they were married, and that henceforth she would always curl up next to him in the dark, feel him hold her through the night, and wake together in the morning, sharing kisses and cuddles and in no hurry to do anything or be anywhere at all.

In truth, she did not know how long they lay together so languidly, kissing and touching so freely. But every one of their caresses was balm to her soul, was one more step farther away from the darkness of her dreams.

“It is still snowing outside,” he said finally, stroking her arm lightly as she lay against him, “It is quite thick already. There is no way you will be leaving my house for at least another day.”

“Really?”

He huffed a laugh. “You don’t seem at all to be alarmed by the notion.”

“Why should I be? I have everything I want here. I have you all to myself.”

“As I do you. But when the snow melts, we shall both have to face the consequences of our actions.”

She sighed and snuggled more tightly against him. “Why do there have to be consequences? All we have done is love one another. When last I looked, that was not a crime in my country.”

“No. Love is not the crime. But being here like this with me is.”

“So have we had a criminal conversation, Lord M?”

He huffed a laugh. “I think it would be very hard to convince people otherwise, Ma’am.”

“But have we?” She raised her head to gaze into his eyes.

“Perhaps…not entirely, Ma’am.”

“Lord M…” she said, running her hands idly up his chest to curl her fingers in the springy hairs she had been so admiring before he was fully awake, “would you…that is…should you…like…to have a criminal conversation with me?”

He laughed again, wrapped her more securely in his arms and squeezed.

“More than I could ever express to you, Ma’am.”

“So should I,” she said. “More than anything in the world.”

“But it would be very ill-advised.”

“Ill-advised?” She sat up. "Really Lord M! Is that all you have to say about it?”

“No indeed,” he said, chuckling, grinning at her. The joy in his eyes made her stomach do flip-flops, and took the sting of her sudden anger quite away. “But if I said what I truly wanted, we would be plunged deep into criminal conversation right now.” His eyes robbed her of breath as he gazed at her.  "We would have been all night long."

Victoria wet her lips.  Oh how she wanted that! 

“It is enough,” he said, sitting up beside her and brushing her hair away from her face with the back of one hand, “to know that you wish it as fervently as I do. To know you love me, My Queen, is—” he brushed her lips as he blinked hard, “truly enough. It is more than I should ever hope for. It is so far more than I deserve.” He brushed her lower lip back and forth softly with his thumb, his eyes fixed on her mouth as her lips parted on a sigh. He leaned in and kissed her slowly and sweetly enough to break her heart.

“I believe it will never be enough for me,” she whispered. “If you made love to me now, my Lord Melbourne, and did not cease until the second coming, it would never be enough for me.”

His lips twitched, and his eyes grew glassy with tears. It seemed to Victoria that he seemed to be fighting with himself, and his face tried on several expressions before finding one it was at peace with.

“I wish,” he said, his hands on her neck, his head pressed against hers. “I wish…oh God Victoria, how I wish!” His lips landed hard on hers and he kissed her with passion and tenderness and a hunger that took her breath away. “I will love you till my dying breath,” he whispered. “I know you will marry someone else. I know I can never—c-claim you as my own, but never doubt—you hold my heart forever, Ma’am. I am entirely yours.” He kissed her again, their faces wet, and Victoria could no longer tell who’s tears she tasted as he kissed her.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As previously stated, this author does not hold with the tyranny of history with regards to her storytelling. If this is offensive to your own sensibilities, you might consider skipping the epilogue. What is the fun of writing, after all, if you cannot make a few minor adjustments now and again?

Epilogue

 

Victoria and Lord M were together a full week alone at Brocket Hall before the snow let up and the roads were passable again. By then, Victoria’s incognito trip to visit Lord M at Christmas was all the country talked about. The scandal was difficult for them both, but they had shared so much in that time that neither regretted any part of it. Even though they did not consummate their love in a physical sense, in a spiritual sense, they had. They were so deep in each other's hearts that when Albert came to visit and present himself for Victoria’s hand, Victoria could not bring herself to even consider him. Though she liked Albert very much, and felt that if circumstances were different, she could have married him, her heart was firmly pledged elsewhere. As her dreams continued to haunt her, she clung even closer to her Prime Minister, deferring Albert to the extent that he returned home feeling spurned and rejected, and later married a German princess.

As the years passed, Victoria continued to reject suitors, and the country began to despair. “It is clear the Queen intends never to marry anyone at all until Lord Melbourne is no more,” remarked the Duke of Wellington upon one occasion. “And I for one, would never wish for the poor fellow’s demise. We may differ in politics, but in essentials, he is a remarkable man and a very dear comrade, and I daresay the envy of more than one man in the country.  And for my own part, I should say that his happiness is well-earned, though devilishly scandalous in the extreme.  But then, when has Lord Melbourne ever had any relationship with a woman that was not so?  I suppose we have a lot to be thankful for in that little Vicky is not in fact married.  At least this time, there is no husband to sue him.”

In fact, it was the Duke of Wellington that started the country talking about a morganatic marriage as being preferable to the impasse of the current situation. If the Queen flat out refused to marry anyone until after Lord Melbourne’s death in any case, why indeed should they remain unmarried? Surely a marriage of even that sort would lend them some respectability, for many assumed that the two were engaged in criminal conversations on a regular basis. Although the Queen’s continued childless state put some of this speculation to rest, others remarked nastily that the reason for this must be that Melbourne was so far past it as to be unable to father children any longer. It was interesting to note that the holders of this opinion were mostly male, while female onlookers, after looking Lord Melbourne up and down coquettishly from behind eyelashes and fans and gloved hands raised to hide whispered conversations, held a different opinion to their male counterparts entirely.

And as it is with avalanches, these small stones started the movement rolling, until the country was practically demanding that Victoria and Lord Melbourne legitimize their relationship and make the best of a bad situation. And so it came to pass that under this climate of feeling within the country, and with Albert and so many other European princes of eligible age married off already, that both Victoria and William Lamb finally got what they most wished for in the world, and married.

To sweeten the victory even more, it was not long after that Victoria did indeed become pregnant, silencing the jealous rumors of the last few years regarding Melbourne’s lack of virility. The child was a boy, dark of hair like both his parents and with aquamarine eyes. Young William was a most beautiful and robust child, as was his sister, Alice Elizabeth, who inherited her father’s eyes as well as his curls and his wry wit.

They lived many, happy years together. The country was pleased as well to have their Queen married and happily settled. In time, they forgot Melbourne’s lowly status as a Viscount and thought more of him as just an Englishman and revered former politician. They even praised their Queen for having the good wit to consent to an English marriage with a man who demanded neither titles nor status, nor money from Parliament, nor even power, but who contented himself to bask in his wife’s shadow and retire entirely from politics to tend orchids in the royal greenhouse and teach his children to ride, leaving the business of running the country to the anointed Queen and elected officials.  Any foreign prince, these voices declared loudly, by now surely would have bankrupted the country in an effort to keep various actresses well established in their own households, to say nothing about the poor Queen, who would like as not have been relegated to the nursery whilst the country writhed under the yoke of a foreign king who neither cared for them nor understood them.  No indeed, said they, surely they had been most fortunate in the Queen's good judgement.  And thus, Melbourne came to be much loved by not only his treasured wife and children, but by his countrymen as well.

When death did claim Lord Melbourne, it was many, many years later. Though the Queen grieved deeply, and felt as if she herself were dead alongside of him, she never had cause to regret either cowardice, or indecision. Her dreams that had so haunted her youth had served her well and taught her to fight for the man she truly loved above all others, to their overwhelming happiness. Victoria and William had loved each other passionately in every respect, and the thought of that, along with the countenances of her beautiful children, who every day reminded her more and more of him, brought her some measure of comfort.

The country mourned alongside of her. They had grown fond of Lord Melbourne too, and very few remembered his past, or that he had one at all. Six months after Lord Melbourne’s death, Parliament, backed by the will of the people, produced a bill that legitimized his children with the Queen, and put them back in line for royal succession. 

In the next few years, the people were more than glad to have monument after monument built around the country in memory of Lord Melbourne.  It was widely accepted that the success of Victoria's reign was due in large part to his loving influence and wisdom.  Many, many years later, his birthday was made into a national holiday that would ultimately spread around the globe through the British Empire.   And the flowers that he so loved and cultivated so carefully also now bear his name--the Melbourne Orchid--celebrated the world over for the perfection and delicacy of their gentle white blooms.

The End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There now. 
> 
> The point of the original Christmas Carol, you may remember, was to head off a dangerous and undesirable path that Scrooge was headed down. Because of his visitors, he gained the perspective needed to make changes to his life in order to produce a more desirable outcome. This epilogue is the culmination of that little "journey" for both our beloved characters. Victoria's dream/nightmare/premonition of the future spurred her into action in the present, and fueled their combined tenacity when it came to standing up to the critics and making their own way for themselves. 
> 
> No it is not historically accurate by any stretch of the imagination. Nor is it intended to be. But rather like another series many fans of this series may be partly familiar with, think of this as a sort of alternative reality...as a possibility that may have happened had the people involved made different choices. I hope that you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!


End file.
